Lyrics & Music: Maureen S. O'Brien, 5/30/97
(after Rudyard Kipling's "Gethsemane")
Insp: "Gethsemane" by Chris Carter, The X Files
These days, DC's a garden, cherry blossoms on the grass --
But all the time that I was there, I prayed the cup would pass.
It didn't pass, it didn't pass, it didn't pass from me
And I must go and drink it down, beyond Gethsemane.
I sit alone here on our bench. Reflecting Pool's a mirror.
And I must go and face our foes, and show my grief and fear,
"You stole his youth. You stole his truth, worth more than life to me.
But now he flies beyond your lies, beyond Gethsemane."
The Easter sun will dance at dawn on brass and marble soon.
My cenotaph, still premature, will match his empty tomb.
"Oh, Death," I'll sing, "Where is your sting? Oh, grave, your victory?"
For Death will die when dead men rise, beyond Gethsemane.
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